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Clark Kent

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Bluelight Crew
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Mar 11, 2005
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New Jersey
Pensively holding the cape in his hands, Clark Kent sat on a bale of hay in the family barn. He had just graduated college with high honors, but somehow it seemed bittersweet knowing that Ma and Pa couldn’t enjoy it with him. He sat there, staring mournfully at the cornflower yellow pentagonal ‘S’ shield. Why?, he asked himself, why did my parents have to die? His eyes began to water as he mentally rifled through all the wonderful things he couldn’t tell them. He could still smell their sweat and blood inside of the barn, years-old stains that no dog would even think of picking up.

He silently cursed his super-senses. Not now, please. How can I let go when their chemical trails are painted around everywhere I go? Tears started slowly dripping down his cheeks as he remembered building this entire barn with his father, stealing his first kiss up on the rafters...he could feel the vibrations in the air from the floating dust particles being displaced by an errant breeze dancing against his diamond-hard skin. He smirked momentarily as he recalled a short image of all the razors he broke attempting to shave his facial hair until his mother told him to reflect his heat vision off of a mirror in order to burn it off.

Ma...Pa...why did you teach me to care so much? Clark mused, only partially in jest. I can crack the world in half, shoot lasers from my eyes and see the quantum magic of the universe, but for all of my power I can’t save you...I’d give it all just to...Clark’s mind trailed off. His parents would let him have it if they heard that. He could hear his Pa’s voice admonishing him for wanting to be something he’s not and his mother’s for him wanting to give up. But isn’t that human?

But you’re not human, Clark. You’re something more. Tears were streaming down his face now as he recalled taking his first ATV ride with Pa, then baking peach cobbler with Ma. He could count the molecules of salt in each drop like a measure of his sadness as he recalled his mother fixing his corsage before picking up Lana Lang for the prom. He felt them tickling his neck when his father reminded him that all of his super-intelligence wouldn’t matter if he didn’t get a degree. There I met Lori...Lori Lemaris broke his heart by turning down his marriage proposal in junior year. Oh, no. Not that, too...

He dropped to his knees in rage and sorrow. He removed his grip from his cape, letting it fall to the floor, crying messily. His hands clenched, and he punched the cape with the force of a jet plane crashing into a mountain, every board and nail in the barn violently shaking. There was a fist shaped dent where he wedged his cape into the ground. He swung again with his left, the dent tripling in size, yet the cape held. He growled as he fired his heat vision into the ‘S’ and pummeled that spot, not caring who felt the shockwaves.

His hands felt the burn whenever he interrupted the path of his eye lasers, a sensation which he welcomed at that moment as he tried to destroy his ancestral artifact by beating it into nothingness. After 8 straight seconds of this, he let up and saw that his birthright cape was still intact. His eyes glowed red with rage and he stared up at the heavens and screamed primally. His guttural yell vibrated every molecule in the roof as he let out all the pain of being human. The barn’s roof started to crack from the strain, bales of hay falling from the rafter and dispersing before they hit the ground.

He caught himself.

No. This isn’t me. Ma and Pa wouldn’t want me to destroy everything I am just because I lost who I love. I am still Clark Kent, journalism graduate. I chose that to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. He took a deep breath, then stated carefully, “I am here to help save those who can’t save themselves, to take the torture others can’t. I’ll never be given more than I can’t handle”. With that, he grabbed his cape and slowly walked out of the barn to take a nap.
 
Peter Parker sat, cross-legged, on a small platform of webbing suspended from the plasterboard walls of his dorm. Gazing out the floor length windows, in the upstairs common-area, he observed as his classmates traversed the college. It had been a typical day, more or less, at Empire State. Typical for Peter, anyway. If the other students had any idea what took place underneath the gymnasium, there would have been a campus-wide panic. As usual, nobody had any idea. Although his secret was safe, deep down he longed to for exposure. Peter Parker was alone.

Is that a hammock? asked Silas, squating over the couch and descending slowly onto the cushion.

They'd shared a workstation together in Organic Chemistry for the past eighteen months, but their relationship remained strictly professional. Their long-term partnership failed to develop into even a casual friendship. Despite Peter's best efforts, there was always an underlying tension lingering below the surface. He couldn't shake the thought that there was something off about the kid.

Well? Is it a hammock or not?

Oh, yeah. Peter replied, bouncing gently on his web.

Balancing a lit cigarette between his lips, Silas stared at Peter for some time before exhaling. Eyes darted back and forth, in short horizontal bursts, like a the bulb in a flatbed scanner: pupils leaping to and fro, from socket to socket; eyelashes casting pointy shadows across bloodhot irises. A bead of sweat, moving downward across sunburnt skin. His blonde hair, reflecting blinding rays of sunlight. The veins in his head, throbbing.

You're weird, Parker. You know that, don't you?

Peter considered this for a moment, glancing back out the common-room windows. Mary-Jane was walking below - hand in hand - with Harry Osborne, her red pigtails bobbing up and down with each step. Dark thoughts invaded his mind, like cockroaches scurrying into the shadows.

Silas leaned forward. I saw you, Peter he said. Last night.

He had Peter's full undivided attention. Mary Jane and Harry, having well and truly disappeared from the radar.

Underneath the gymnasium, in the boiler room. You were jerking off, weren't you?

No. I was... uh... making hammocks.
 
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